


To Unfold

by pryxis



Series: The Unfolding of Erik Lehnsherr [1]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU of a sort, M/M, Mention and Evidence of Domestic Violence, Mentions of the Holocaust, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pryxis/pseuds/pryxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after the events of X3, Magneto dies and wakes up as a young boy. Stuck in a young body, with his future stretched in front of him, he has a chance to begin his life anew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

   
 _Time does not change us. It just unfolds us._  
 **-Max Frisch**  


* * *

_October 1938_

Erik woke up gasping for air, his small hands curling around the thin blanket that his mother draped over him.

 

He remembered everything.

 

He remembers the crushing pain in his chest, the way that his frail body gasped for air before succumbing to the inevitable.

 

The way he wondered if this was how Charles felt before he died.

 

The pots in the kitchen trembled.

 

He tries to avoid thinking of Charles, because every time his thoughts turned to him he was always reminded of the day that he turned his back on Charles. The day on the beach when they became enemies, and the day he had put Charles in a wheelchair for the first time.

 

Old men never lacked regret.

 

But looking down at his small body, his tiny hands and fingers (dirty, and with arms far too thin for a small child); he realized that he was no longer the old man who called himself Magneto.

 

He was simply Erik now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been so easy to forget how horrible it was to be Jewish in Nazi Germany.

 

The children weren’t fully aware about how horrible the conditions really were; they simply knew that there was never enough food or clean water to spare.

 

And somehow, they still found the energy to play, to smile, and to laugh without care.

 

But still there was an undercurrent of fear. They knew that something was wrong, they were picking up on the fear and anxiety that their parents projected. The Hitler Youth patrolled the edges of their ghetto, cruelly taunting them with their guns. Chanting at them, insulting them, making sure that they knew their existence was cursed.

 

As a result they never played in the street, afraid that if they lingered too long, one of them might be tempted to actually shoot them.

 

They had already ordered the expulsion of Polish Jews, his mother being one of the few that had managed to escape the notice of Nazi authorities.  And in less than two weeks Jewish newspapers would be banned, and nearly every synagogue in the country would be burned to the ground.

 

And in two weeks they would begin to send innocent people to the camps.

 

Never in his life had Erik wished that he had Charles’ mutation more than he had at this moment. It would be so easy to escape, to witness the war from afar instead of on the front lines.

 

His attempts to convince his mother and father to move, to run away from their home (this hell on earth), were mostly unsuccessful. He could tell that his mother was starting to grow more concerned as the days went on, and he played on her fears as much as he could.

 

His father was another story. He had been born in Germany, he had fought for Germany, and he would die in Germany. It wouldn’t be long before this corrupt party would be driven out of power; they only had to endure this hardship for a little while longer. Erik shouldn’t worry, he didn’t understand politics like his father did, all he had to do was wait and see.

 

There was no amount of pleading, begging, or outright manipulation that Erik could use that would convince his father to leave. Erik still had welts on his backside from the last time he tried to get his father to open his mind to common sense.

 

He wished that he would be able to convince his mother to leave her husband behind, but he knew that she would stand by her husband until he died.

 

That’s what she did the last time.

 

Soon the inevitable happens. Ernst Vom Rath is shot, and dies two days later. Members of Hitler’s party mobbed the streets; destroying shops, desecrating cemeteries, and beating men to death while their families watched in horror.

 

Erik is reminded about despicable humans could be to each other. He could never understand how Charles could ever want to make peace with these monsters. They did nothing but harm each other for the slightest perceived difference. Right now it was religion, in twenty years it would be for skin color, and in forty years it would be for sexual orientation. And it never ended, even when a new war was waged. The intolerance continues. Until one side of the war came out on top. Coexistence was never something that truly worked; as sweet of a dream that it might be.

 

His mother was growing even more anxious as the days went by, and even his father’s confidence was a bit shaken. Erik tried again to convince his family to flee the country, they could return when Hitler and his damned party were driven out of power.  It was so frustrating to be so young and unable to do nothing.

 

Erik hated feeling so helpless, so weak.

 

For the first time in nearly sixty years he began to pray. He knew that prayer wasn’t intended to be used to beg something from G-d, but rather to open a dialogue and help him develop his spirituality; but at this point he was beyond caring. He needed some sort of divine intervention and he didn’t particularly care where it came from.

 

Nearly a year later, his mother woke him in the dead of night.

 

“Wake up, my darling.”

 

It took him a while to fully awaken. It was startling how much sleep his young body needed. However, once he was fully awake he knew that something was wrong.

 

“What’s wrong mother? Have they come? Do we have to run now?”

 

His mother gave him a sad smile. It made Erik’s insides turn to ice.

 

“My darling boy. It’s so easy to forget that you are still a child, when you walk and talk like a man. The school teacher has long run out things to teach you, and has told us that you are a genius more than once.”

 

The school teacher was an old Jewish woman who taught the younger children of the neighborhood to read and write after they were no longer allowed to attend school. Schoolwork meant for six year olds was boring, and done in a matter of minutes. Erik hadn’t meant to draw too much attention, but there was only so much boredom he was willing to take.

 

His mother handed him his clothing. He quickly changed into it.

 

“But you are so much more than that. You are an old soul in a young body.”

 

Erik froze.

 

“Why do you say that mother?”, he asked; his voice carefully controlled.

 

She wiped a washcloth across his dirty face.

 

“The way you look at the children. Instead of joining them, you watch them with sad eyes. When you play with them, you humor them. You know that their games are silly, but you still play along; smiling indulgently. A mother’s eyes see everything, Erik. You should know this.”

 

She took his left hand, scrubbing carefully at the fingernails.

 

“Why haven’t you said anything?”

 

“Because I know you are my son, despite how old you may act. What good would it have done to have said anything?”

 

Finishing with his left hand, she moved on to his right.

 

When she finished tidying him up she looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes. For no reason, Erik felt his stomach fill with dread.

 

“When are we leaving?”

 

She gave him another sad smile. The dread increased.

 

“You are leaving. I cannot go with you.”

 

He felt panic grip him.

 

“You can’t! You’ll die here if you stay! They will kill you!”

 

His father grunted in his sleep.

 

“Be quiet. Your father knows nothing about this.”

 

She adjusted his coat, her hands trembling.

 

“Mother please. Come with me. Let’s escape together.”

 

“They are only taking children.”

 

 “Then we’ll find a way to escape together! There will be other chances for us. We can still remain a family.”

 

Unexpectedly, his mother started to cry, and Erik feels like the worst human being on the planet.

 

 “Please stop crying Mother. It’ll be okay. Please stop crying.”

 

“You must go Erik. What matters most is your survival.”

 

“You could die here.”

 

“So could you. And that is the one thing that I will do everything in my power to prevent. It does not matter if I die. I will give everything, suffer any injustice. As long you, my darling baby boy, are still alive.”

 

“How did you-“

 

There was a soft rustle of chimes.

 

“It’s time to go. This man will be taking you and some other children to Berlin. Then you will board a train to Holland, then a boat to England. There will be a family to take care of you. They believe that you are an orphan. Let them believe this lie. Here is your suitcase, your identification card, and some money. Hide the money; I’m sure that there will be children more desperate than you are.”

 

She walked him outside where there was a man with a truck waiting. Before he climbed into the truck, he hugged his mother desperately.

 

“I love you, my son.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

He had lost his mother once again.

 

He spent the rest of the trip to Berlin, hidden in a secret compartment of the truck with five other children, scrubbing at his cheeks and trying desperately not to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

The truck didn’t run into any problems and they reached Berlin without any trouble. They managed to board the train without much harassment as well.

 

There was a whole crowd of people, parents and relatives sending their children away.

 

There were so many people crying.

 

A young girl in a very nice dress pointed to a girl about to board the train. She was openly sobbing.

 

“Look at that girl. I’m not crying like she is.”

 

The girl’s mother looked at her sadly and responded, her voice thick. “No. You’re a very brave girl. Mama is proud of you.”

 

The last call for boarding was being announced. Some parents found it harder to let go of their children, not knowing if this was the last time they would see their children.

 

Erik watched it all from train window, his heart clenching painfully as he thought of his mother.

 

Their identification cards were carefully examined, and their suitcases were looked through. Their suitcases were tagged with a number, and the children were given a similar tag with the same number to wear around their necks.

 

Erik’s tag had the number 124 written in big blocky digits. He tried to remind himself that it was not the same as having that number carved into his forearm. But still, the skin on which the number would have sat itched terribly. He scratched at it, feeling uneasy.

 

Erik sat by a group of teenagers near the end of the train, hoping that they would ignore him through the entire trip. Although some of the children were aware of just how bad things were, and that they might never see their parents again, most of the children seemed excited. They were talking excitedly about the things they would do when they got to London, the sights they would see, the language they would learn.

 

For most of them it was an adventure.

 

An adventure with its elements of danger, thought Erik as Nazi soldiers entered their compartment.

 

The air grew heavy and it had felt as the train had sunk a couple of inches as soon as soon as the soldiers had entered. They opened suitcases and ordered everyone to empty and turn out their pockets, making sure that they had no valuables on them.

 

It was then that Erik noticed that there was a gold chain sewn into a secret pocket of his trousers. It gave a very faint twitch when Erik reached out to it with his powers.

 

His mother had only one gold chain. It held a gold Star of David pendant, and Erik remembered how proudly his mother had worn it when he was very young. It was before things got worse than they already were and his mother managed to pawn the pendant and chain it before it was taken from her. It had been a wedding present.

 

He wasn’t the only one on the train to have jewelry sewn into his clothing. Many of the children had some sort of valuable sewn into their clothing. Most of them were chains, but the girl next to him had silver earrings in the lining of her jacket.

 

The soldiers left the compartment, not finding anything of interest. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when they left the train, the air feeling lighter.

 

The train ride to Holland was a long one, and Erik spent a good deal of time politely chatting with one of the train attendants; a young woman named Marguerite. Her German was horrible, and her English passable. She seemed delighted to learn that Erik knew French in addition to English.

 

{“Your grasp of French is really impressive for someone so young!”}

 

{“My father once worked as a translator. He was very insistent that I learn French and English.”}

 

In truth, his father was a war veteran, highly decorated before Hitler came into power.

 

{“That was very smart of him. I wish my parents had thought to teach me another language. I certainly could have used it, especially now.”}

 

Eventually she started talking about the work she did with the Children’s Transport.

 

{“I have been working with the Transport since it first started. It’s such a shame that this is the last one. They say they’ve run out of money, but you think that they could hold off renovating their ancient buildings and save a couple of hundred more children. But really, I think that they don’t want more immigrants in Britain.”}

 

About how long the train ride was.

 

{“You’re lucky. We picked up some of these children in Austria. It’s been a very long couple of days for them, but we’ll reach the Hook in less than ten hours.”}

 

She also talked about what happened to the children when they finally reached Liverpool Station.

                                                           

{“There are some children who receive placement immediately. Usually the infants. But most of the children are sent to a boarding house until they find families willing to take them. There is no heating, which means that it is terribly cold in the winter, but there is plenty of room and space run around. You’ll like it; I hear that it’s lots of fun.”}

 

She also talked about far more inconsequential things.

 

{“Mama wants me to marry him, of course. But he’s so boring! Honestly, what woman wants to marry a man who goes on and on about fabric? I understand he’s a tailor, but sometimes I think he would prefer marrying one of his bolts of fabric than me.”}

 

After the second hour of her personal troubles (honestly, marry the shop boy if you like him more, just pick someone), he managed to escape by claiming that he wanted to play with the other children.

 

He played with the younger children for a little while, answering their questions about his conversation with Marguerite (“She talked about her boyfriend a lot.” “Ew.”); and teaching them a few phrases in French when they asked.

 

When everyone was looking a bit tired, worn out from the adventure of being on a train for so long, he decided to sleep for a bit. Within a couple of hours Marguerite was shaking him awake.

 

{“Wake up Erik! We’ve reached Holland!”}

 

A lot of the children were looking out the windows, their noses rubbing against the windows and smudging the glass windows. The sun hung high in the sky, painting the landscape in vivid detail. There was a vast expanse of open air, and the sky felt bluer and more open than it ever did in Germany.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the information about the Kindertransport was taken from the [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kindertransport) page, as well as the documentary that I mentioned in the last chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

In another two hours they had reached the Hook of Holland and then boarded a ferry to Harwich. Marguerite had stayed near him the entire time, her gentle hand steady on his shoulder as he swayed slightly from exhaustion. She talked entirely too much and was too invested in her own personal dramas, but she was a good person who genuinely cared about the children.

For a moment he wondered if she would be as accepting to mutants as she was of Jews. However, he quickly pushed that thought away. Right now he was too tired to be angry.

He managed to catch some sleep on the train to Liverpool, but before the train reached the station, he was shaken awake by Marguerite.

{“I should tell you that there will be cameras at the train station. Try to smile and wave, the volunteer families will see the photos and they won’t want any grumpy children.”}

Erik sneered. Even in 1938, the press was still disgusting.

{“You will smile won’t you? There is a family that has wanted a young boy that can speak English well; they’re very wealthy. I was going to recommend you to them, but they might not want to take you if you have a bad attitude.”}

{“It doesn’t matter to me how wealthy they are.”}

Erik couldn’t care less about some rich couple that wanted to boost their social standing by taking in a poor war orphan.

{“They would pay for your schooling. You’re such a smart boy; you deserve to have a chance to be in an environment where that will be encouraged. If you stay at the boarding house, or go to another family you might not get that chance.”}

Erik gave in, if only to stop that edge of desperation that Marguerite’s voice had.

{“I want to meet them first. If I don’t like them, I’m not going with them. I don’t care if I have to work on a farm until I turn eighteen.”}

She gave him a big smile. The edge of relief in it made Erik suspicious.

{“Why do you want me to go with them so badly? Are they paying you to find suitable child?”}

She fidgeted, giving herself away. Erik’s lips curled in disgust once again. Somehow, despite the bone deep exhaustion that he felt, he found it within himself to be angry. He had talked to her almost the entire train ride, sympathizing with her, becoming comfortable in her presence and this pathetic human was looking at him as a piece of meat to be sold.

{“What do you know about this anyway? They are the reason we were even able to take this final trip. If they hadn't donated their money and convinced their friends to do the same we would have had to stop months ago. It was because of them that you’re even here in the first place!”}

{“I’m sure that they eased your way as well. How else would you have been able to afford being away from home for so long?”}

She snorted. It was a disgusting, inelegant sound. {“Do you honestly think that you would be adopted by any other family once they see how you get along with the other children? I’m not trying to be cruel Erik, but any family will be suspicious of a child that doesn't get along with children his own age.”}

And it was so much better to be sold off as a piece of cattle.

{“Then I’ll just work on a farm. It-“}

{“Don’t be stupid. You are not even ten years old. Your body isn't suited to the kind of work that they’ll make you do. It’s no type of life for a child.”}

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

{“Besides it’s only for a meeting, where they will determine whether or not they will want to adopt you. Mrs. Emerson just wants a child to call her own, but her husband has much stricter standards. Most of the train attendants think that this search for a child is to appease his wife; that he’s not really looking for a child to adopt.”}

Marguerite sighed, twisting her hands in her lap. It was an ugly situation, and she didn't particularly enjoy playing the villain. But everyone working on the Kindertransport project owed them a great debt.

{“I know that this isn't an ideal situation. You shouldn't have to go to a family that will use you as a prop to show off their own ‘compassion and generosity’.”}

Erik stood still for a moment, digesting Marguerite’s words. It was true that he didn't get along with other children. He was much too old to really be engaged in the games they played. To tell the truth, he had forgotten what it was like to be a child again. Being thrust into the body of a child did nothing to help him remember. The anger still bubbled up inside of him, hot and ugly, but he had to look at his options and disect the situation with some measure of objectivity. He could meet the couple, and see what kind of people they were. It wouldn't hurt him any to have a wealthy family willing to fund his future endeavors. It might also give him the opportunity to meet other families that might be willing to invest in him. As angry as he was at Marguerite at basicially attempting to sell him, he understood her need for money especially if she wanted to marry the poor shop boy. 

{“A war is coming. Are you sure they want a child from a foreign country who might not be able to leave England when war visits their doorstep?”}

It scared Marguerite how unlike a child Erik could be sometimes. He had the eyes of someone who had seen far too much horrors and tragedies in a short span of time. It was horrible to look into the eyes of someone who had experienced so much pain.

Despite the money that they had received from them, the decision to introduce Erik to the Emersons was almost entirely for his benefit. She had seen the way that some children acted when they didn't get placed with a family. Some grew quiet and withdrawn, but others grew bitter and angry at the world.

With the way that Erik had reacted to her receiving compensation to find a child made her realize that an extended stay at the boarding house would only serve to increase the bitterness and distrust that he already had in other people.

It was the type of bitterness that destroyed everything it touched, and Erik didn't need any more of it.

She smiled at him weakly.

{“Have some faith.”}

Erik’s lips twisted cruelly, an action that made Marguerite unspeakably nervous. Never had Marguerite met a child that unnerved her quite as badly as Erik did.

The arrival at Liverpool was met with a wall of flashing light bulbs and a sea of overexcited reporters. They were shouting at the children, hoping that one of them knew enough English for an interview.

Marguerite and the other attendants were out in full force, herding the children to a more private part of the train station, while preventing some of the more overzealous photographers from getting too close.

The children smiled and waved as best they could, some enjoying the attention as best they could. A girl nearby whispered to her friend “It’s like we’re movie stars!”

It took Erik a while to get used to English once again, but when he clearly heard a reporter call out: “How do the children feel, now that Germany has invaded Poland? Do they know?” he felt his blood turn cold.

If the children didn't know before, they certainly knew now, as the children who understood English rapidly translated for those that didn't. Instead of the nervous hopefulness that was present in the children before they got off the train, they were now fearful, afraid for what may happen to them now that their families were in so much danger. By the war's end, the large majority of them would be orphans.

The children were led into a fairly secluded part of the station, a place where the press was not allowed to follow. Some of the more muscular train attendants stood by the roped off area, making sure that no one followed.

After talking with the other attendants, Marguerite went to go look for Erik.

Erik sat on a bench with some other children, his face a stony mask. They children beside him were slightly unnerved by his behavior. Marguerite gave him another look of worry as she took him to the side.

“The Emersons are in a private room down the hall. If they decide not to take you in, the bus to the boarding house is leaving in an hour. Here is your suitcase.”

Marguerite walked him down to an office, steeling herself before she knocked on the door. In the meantime, Erik took off the tag around his neck and straightend his clothing as best he could. When she opened the door, there was a couple sitting by a table in the northeast corner of the room, sipping tea. When the door opened, the woman got up as quickly as she could while still maintaining her composure.

Her frame was thin and willowy, her wispy blonde hair curling around a gaunt face. Her hazel eyes were enormous and very nervous.

Unexpectedly, Erik felt a pang of pity for this woman, whose hands trembled as she smoothed the front of her skirt. There was something about her manerisms, the way that she held that nervous smile that reminded him inexplicitly of his mother, even though the two women didn't resemble each other in the slightest. 

{“Hello, Marguerite. It’s so nice to see you again. Would you and your young friend be willing to join my husband and I for some tea? There’s plenty left.”}

{“I beg your pardon madam, but I must join the other volunteers and get the other children settled. It is getting a bit late and some of the children are very tired from their journey. This is Erik. Erik, this is Mrs. Emerson.”}

Marguerite nudged Erik. He managed to dredge up a smile, which became a touch warmer when he saw the relief settle across this woman’s face.

{“Hello Mrs. Emerson. It’s nice to meet you and your husband.”}

{“You speak French! How lovely. Can you speak English as well? I’m afraid that my husband never gained an appreciation for the French language, as lovely as it is.”}

“Of course. It is wonderful to meet you Mr. Emerson.”

“Good to meet you to as well, boy. Why don’t you sit down and have a cuppa? Would be nice to get to know you. You can see yourself out Miss –“

“Massar, sir. It was nice to see you again.”

With that, Marguerite nearly raced out of the room.

“Please sit down Erik. I’m sure you must be hungry after such a long trip. We have plenty of pastries.”

Mrs. Emerson hand gently rested on his shoulder as she showed him his seat.

“Would you like some tea, dear?”

Her hand was still on his shoulder, this time a touch heavier than before, as if she was trying to reassure herself that he was still there.

“Yes, please.”

“Milk?”

“No thank you.”

She poured him a cup of tea, and handed him the sugar bowl.

“Add as much as you like. I’m sure you have quite the sweet tooth.”

Smiling, Erik added two spoonfuls of sugar to his tea, using the spoon on his saucer to gracefully stir the sugar in.

This wasn't the first time that Erik had to do tea with a wealthy couple. While he was sure that Charles believed that he used nothing but violence to achieve his goals, that wasn't always the case. It would be unfair to the mutants that flocked to his cause to be used as nothing more than soldiers, and constant battle would create too many casualties and put them even more at risk from exposure to the governments that were pursuing him. He often had to court young, affluent mutants and persuade them to either join his cause or finance his goals.

And having a very wealthy connection, even if they were simply humans, could greatly help him when the humans would start to oppress everyone who had the X-gene.

Perhaps he might even get Charles to realize the validity of his cause.

But those plans would go into motion later. He had plenty of time.

Right now he had a family to court.


	4. Chapter 4

The Emerson Estate was large and very empty.

 

Upon arriving, Mrs. Emerson showed Erik to his room, which was bigger than the small apartment that his family shared in Germany. The canopy bed was outfitted in cheerful yellow linens, with a couple of stuffed animals resting against the pillows.  There was a small bookcase full of children’s books and what looked like a very expensive model train set by the window.

 

“Do you like it? We didn’t know what you would like, so we tried to put in a little bit of everything.”

 

“It’s very nice. Thank you.”

 

She stood nervously by the door, not knowing what to do.

 

“Do you need anything? Some tea to help you relax? Perhaps some hot chocolate instead?”

 

Erik remembered the chain sewn into his trousers.

 

“May I borrow a pair of scissors?”

 

“I’ll have a maid fetch them for you.”

 

In a few minutes a maid presented him with a pair of scissors. Mrs. Emerson dismissed the girl and watched Erik carefully cut open the secret pocket in his trousers. She watched him finger the golden chain with reverence, an indescribably sad expression on his face.

 

It made her heart twist.

 

“That’s a lovely pendant.” Her voice was soft and gentle, like she was trying to put an easily startled animal at ease. 

 

“It was my mother’s.”

 

She sat by him on the bed, and tried to ignore the thrill that went through her when Erik leaned against her, as if he trusted her (as if he was really her son). She looked at the pendant that he was holding.

 

“May I?”

 

Wordlessly, he handed it to her. She fingered the chain delicately and softly polished the pendant with her sleeve. It wasn't much, but it was clearly well cared for. Genevieve recalled how she didn't care for any the jewelry in her dresser half as much as Erik cared for this simple pendant and chain.

 

She hung the chain around Erik’s neck and fastened the clasp. The polished chain glinted brightly against the dim light of the bedside lamps.

 

“You must miss her terribly.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I-“

 

He was about to say ‘I probably won’t ever see her again’ but was reminded that his mother listed him as an orphan, and with her in still in Germany, he might as well be.

 

_You are my son; I love you regardless of the oddities that you display_

 

He felt his eyes burn. It wasn’t fair that this was affecting him so much. It wasn’t fair that she was there and he was here.

 

Mrs. Emerson gently wiped his tears away with her handkerchief.

 

“It matters. It will always matter.”

 

They sat on the bed, with him leaning against her, until his eyes grew heavy.

 

He remembers her gently guiding him under the covers, her soft floral perfume lingering around him as she leaned over to kiss his forehead.

 

When he woke it was about nine in the morning and he had kicked most of the sheets and stuffed animals off his bed in his fitful sleep.

 

He lay in his bed, thinking, now that his head was clearer.

 

There wasn’t really anything that he could do at this point in time. He seven years old, it wasn’t as if he could go traveling the world to gather contacts and recruit mutants. He couldn’t even create contacts in the criminal world, not only because he was a child but also because he doubted that the Emersons had even stepped foot in a street that had an even a moderate amount of crime.

 

He was stuck in this large house, with no idea of how to spend his time. Just as he escaped the plastic prison from before, he was now trapped in another prison of his own making.

 

Mrs. Emerson popped her head into his room while he was still thinking of what to do.

 

“You’re awake.”

 

“Yes.” Erik didn't know what to make of this woman, she seemed like a kind woman. She wasn't willing to brush away his past and his parents, even if he would technically be her child once all the paperwork was properly filed. There was a desperation in her eyes that struck Erik when he first met her, she was looking at Erik as if he were her last hope in her life. It was a look that Erik was familiar with, many of the young mutants that he had rescued had led less than blessed lives, and were looking for salvation against those that would seek to punish them for something that should have been celebrated, not reviled. And this woman was far from a child, and she had probably grown up without wanting for anything, so there was no reason that he should feel compassion for her. But it bubbled up inside him despite all of this.

 

She stepped into his room.

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

He didn’t know why he wanted to tell her. Maybe it was those enormous eyes that held the slightest trace of sadness. Maybe it was the fact that it looked like a strong wind could snap her in half.

 

Maybe she had a latent mutant power that was putting him at ease.

 

Erik snorted at the ridiculous thought. Even if she did, he had gone through extensive mental training to recognize when his mind was being pilfered through and when his thoughts and emotions were being influenced. It took a lot of effort to organize his thoughts enough to fool a telepath, but he was capable of it.

 

He sighed.

 

He didn’t particularly like thinking of telepaths.

 

“Are you ill?”

 

“No, no. I’m fine Mrs. Emerson.”

 

“Call me Genevieve. Or Gen. Or even Aunt Genevieve if you prefer. Mrs. Emerson is too formal for us.”

 

Erik gave her a wry smile as he propped himself up on the pillows.

 

“Now, what’s wrong?”

 

“I don’t know what to do with my life.” Oh God, he sounded like some over dramatic wretch of a child.

 

She smiled at him indulgently.

 

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of your life but I thought that we could shop for some clothing today, visit the tailor, and perhaps get a nice cup of tea. You can run around in the yard for a while, and then meet with a tutor to see how far along in your studies you are. Then we can sit down and have dinner. How does that sound?”

 

“Is there time for a shower and some breakfast?”

 

Genevieve giggled. It was a nice clear sound that Erik didn’t mind hearing.

 

“For you darling, there’s all the time in the world.”

 

He got up out of the bed and headed towards the en suite bathroom. The wallpaper pattern was of cheerful yellow ducks holding umbrellas. Erik found that he didn’t mind the ducks as much as he thought he would when he visited the room last night.

 

“Shall I call in a maid to run a bath for you?” called Genevieve from the other side of the door.

 

What on earth was so hard about turning on the tap and filling it with water? Erik thought as he leaned over the bath and adjusted the temperature to his liking. He also added a bit of the bath oil that was by the tub, mostly because he like the way it smelled and it had been quite some time before he had a chance to bathe in such luxury. He let the water run and fill the tub while he went to brush his teeth.

 

“No thank you, Genevieve. I can manage it.”

 

“Alright. I’ll just lay out your clothing.”

 

He brushed his teeth, standing on the stepstool that was placed against the bathroom sink cabinet. He frowned at the unpleasant sensation that the animal hair toothbrush made against his teeth, and the disgusting taste of the dental cream. He suspected that brushing his teeth would not be his favorite part of his daily routine for quite some time.

 

He turned off the tap, shucked his clothes off and eagerly climbed in the warm water. He noticed there was a rubber duck on the edge of the tub, and he put it in the bath water and let it float while he relaxed.

 

After spending a while in the tub, letting all his thought pour out of his head while he tried to achieve a little bit of serenity( _I believe that true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity_ ), he scrubbed at his skin almost viciously.

 

 By the time he had finished he had turned the bathwater a murky grey and his skin pink from his enthusiasm.

 

He wiped himself dry with the plush white towels provided, folding them up and placing them on the ledge of the bathtub when he was finished. He stepped into his room wrapped up in an oversized bathrobe, trying not to trip on the hem of it. He was almost successful.

 

When he was dressed (in a pair of truly horrible shorts and a button up that were too big for him), he went downstairs to look for the kitchen.

 

He got lost several times, despite being guided by the very helpful servants.

 

The rest of the day passed by in a blur shop and overly enthusiastic shop assistants and before he knew it, he was staring blankly at the vast expanse of property surrounding the Emerson estate.

 

Just how on earth was he expected to play?

 

It had been easy enough with the other children in the ghetto, they would make up games and Erik would play along. But now that he was supposed to play on his own he had no idea what to do. He hadn’t wanted to play in decades, and he found himself at a loss.

 

He explored the grounds for a bit, Genevieve watching him while she enjoyed a cup of tea. (Honestly Erik was getting sick of all the tea.)

 

He wondered if he should try to climb a tree, try to dig for worms, or chase a small animal. Instead he walked across the grounds, emptying his mind and wondering.

 

He wondered about a lot of things, but most of all he found himself wondering about Charles. It wasn’t unusual for him; Charles was a person that Erik often thought of, even before his death. Charles wouldn’t be much younger than he was, struggling with the knowledge that his power would give him.

 

He remembered Charles confessing over a half-empty bottle of scotch about how his powers first manifested. He had been about five years old, reaching out to his mother and feeling like she didn’t love him. The feeling had been so strong, said Charles; that he stole into her mind and found out.

 

He never mentioned what he found, choosing instead to polish off the rest of the scotch, letting his actions speak for him.

 

Erik considered seeking out Charles, but discarding the idea as soon as he had it. War was going to break out between the United Kingdom and Germany and everyone knew it. His family was probably already in their vast estate in Westchester, safely out of harm’s reach.

 

Away from his reach.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a cold rainy day in November when Erik met him again.

Erik was escaping his tutor, escaping into the dense forest on the edge of the Emerson property, ignoring the way that the mud started to splash against his woolen trousers. The forest was the one place on the property that Erik could really be alone. The maids were unwilling to chase him there his tutor would even let the thought enter his head, his paper white skin looking as if it hadn’t seen sunlight in decades. 

At the soonest available moment, he stole away from the lesson and ran into the forest, ignoring the yells of the maid who would scold him when he arrived in the evening, telling him that his parents would be very upset at his behavior. Which was a lie, as Genevieve indulged him at every opportunity and Horace didn’t care.

Charles was hiding. He was hiding from his cruel brother, from his uncaring mother, from his step-father with that greedy look in his eyes. But most of all, he was hiding from all the thoughts. The derisive thoughts of the maids as they scrubbed their hands raw; keeping the mausoleum they lived in presentable. The faint, sad disappointed thoughts that crossed his mother’s mind as she looked at him, the faint scent of liquor clinging to her thin body. The jealous thoughts of his older brother Cain, jealous that his younger brother is showing more promise, jealous that Charles is getting the same academic work that he was. 

It was completely by accident that Erik stumbled across Charles, sleeping on the damp floor of the forest under the shade of a large tree, shivering through his light jacket and muddied trousers. 

No matter how young he was, Erik would never forget the face of his oldest and dearest friend. It pained him to see him like this, so small, weak, and cold. Without putting much thought into it, he unbuttoned his coat, and draped it over Charles. 

Then he sat by Charles, organizing his mind and waiting.

It wasn’t long before Charles woke up, the coat that Erik placed on him falling on the floor. Erik winced, knowing that the maids wouldn’t be too happy to clean mud off a wool coat. If it could even be cleaned that it is. What a waste of a perfectly good coat, thought Erik as he looked at the mud.

“Oh I’m so sorry! I’ve ruined your coat.”

Erik hid a smile in the palm of his hand. It was impossible to think of the pain of their past (their future?) when Charles was like this; so little, wide-eyed and so very earnest. He was very reminiscent of the version of Charles that he had first met, an idealistic professor of genetics that was convinced that humans and mutants could live together in perfect harmony.

“It’s fine. It’s not as if it’s my only coat.” Genevieve had practically bought him an entire closet full of coats, in different weights, colors, and lengths in preparation for the rather mild winter. But then again, mused Erik, compared to the winters he had spent roaming Eastern Europe, and that one memorable winter that he had spent in Russia any winter would be rather mild in comparison. 

Charles tried getting the mud off with the sleeve of the sweater, but only rubbing the mud in and just making the stain worse. He looked at the coat desolately.

“I’m only making it worse, aren’t I?”

Erik chuckled. “I said it’s fine. With the amount of clothing that Genevieve buys me, it’s a miracle there’s any room in my quarters left.”

“Who’s Genevieve?”

Erik opened his mouth to answer, but Charles knew the answer before he had the chance to speak.

“She’s your mother? No, that’s not right. What do you mean by adoptive?”

“It means that I’m an orphan and she took me in after the death of my parents.”

Charles looked down at his muddy feet, saddened. It was amazing how guilty that small action made him feel. It figured that he would hurt his feelings so soon after meeting him again after so many years, Erik thought, with no small amount of self reproach.

“My dad’s dead too.”

Erik picked up the coat and wrapped it around his young friend, knowing what he was thinking, and getting slightly concerned about the way he was shivering.

“It’s alright to miss him.”

Charles gripped the coat tightly and leaned heavily against Erik.

“But I shouldn’t! I mean he’s dead, and he was never around, and I didn’t even know him that well, and Cain says-“

Charles stopped his tirade to look at Erik with watery eyes and a hope so bright and fragile that Erik had no idea what to do, his hands curling helplessly into fists inside the pockets of his trousers. He had never been able to really be there for Charles, he had been the one person that he had always let down without fail.

“How did you know what I was thinking? Can you read minds? Are you like me?”

There was so much that Erik could tell Charles right now; so much he could do to change and shape his views on life and humanity. But looking at the hopeful gleam in Charles’ innocent eyes, he couldn’t find it in himself to start twisting him into another person, into a shadow of what he once was. He had always admired Charles for what he was despite their opposing views. It would be easy to do it, to make Charles see that humans were beneath them, that their fear of them was something that would drive them to attempt to wipe out their species. In Charles he would have a powerful ally, but he wouldn’t be the same Charles that befriended him at one of his lowest points. He would no longer have that adorably earnest optimism. Instead he would be twisted, into a different version of the man that Erik is today.

 

“I just know what it’s like to lose your parents. I can’t read minds.”

Charles deflated, sagging against him. “Mother says that it’s not possible. People can’t read minds.”

“It seems to me that you can.”

Charles turned big soulful eyes on to him. “You won’t tell anyone will you? Cain says that if the government thinks that I can read minds that they’ll think I’m some sort of monster and they’ll take me away and perform experiments on me. Cain says that they’ll hurt a lot.”

Charles seemed genuinely scared, his voice a desperate plea.

Erik gave Charles a small smile, suppressing the anger he felt at this ‘Cain’. “Who would believe me? After all, like your mother said people can’t read minds.”

The smile that Charles gave him was stunning. Here was Charles: a little boy covered in mud, with bright blue eyes and a smile that could outshine the sun. 

“Thank you.”

Charles stuck his hand in his pocket, taking out a very nice watch. Honestly, thought Erik, who gives a child an adult’s watch. Children just weren’t careful with valuables.

“Hey! I’m careful with it.”

Erik raised his eyebrows at Charles’ indignant expression. 

“You’re covered in mud.”

Charles looked at the muddy fingerprints he created on the watch in horror.

“Do you think it’ll wash off in the bath?”

Erik sighed in exasperation and took out a handkerchief. “You’re going to ruin it if you do that.”

He took the watch from Charles, being careful not to get too messy from Charles’ hands, and wrapped the watch in his handkerchief and tucked it in Charles’ pocket. He carefully ignored the way that Charles flinched when he got too close.

“Most watches can’t be dropped in water, or they’ll just stop working. When you’re clean, take a damp cloth and gently clean it. Then wipe it with a dry cloth.”

Charles looked hesitantly at his pocket. 

“I clean your handkerchief myself! I’ll have it to you by tomorrow, I promise! “

“It’s fine, you can keep it.”

Charles bit his lip, looking unsure. Erik gave him a soft smile, and couldn’t help the small tendril of satisfaction that arose when he noticed how it calmed Charles.

“Really it’s fine. I have plenty.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

Charles took the coat off and stood up; making sure that the coat didn’t fall into the mud again. He handed the coat to Erik who took it graciously.

“Thank you for the handkerchief, and for keeping me warm. Umm… I’m sorry I have to go. Dinner’s in an hour and I need to clean up.”

He started running towards his house. Erik watch him run with some amusement.

“My name is Charles Xavier! It was nice to meet you!”

He was out of sight before Erik had a chance to reply.

When he got back to the house, the maid in charge of the laundry took one look at him and scowled. He gave her an apologetic smile before heading to his room for a bath.

Genevieve showed up at the door of his bathroom when he about to wash his hair.

“I see you’ve had an adventure in the woods, young man.”

Erik started to lather his hair with an air of nonchalance. 

“I don’t have the faintest idea of what you’re talking about.”

She sat in the chair that was by the bathtub and began to massage his scalp. Erik closed his eyes at the pleasant sensation of her nails scraping against his scalp. He remembered that his mother would sometimes run her fingers through his hair in the evening to relax him, often when he was too wound up to go to sleep. 

This felt… nice.

“You have to stop running away from your tutor.”

Erik frowned. “He’s boring. All he does is makes me write lines because I know everything that he tries to teach me.”

She sighed. “It can’t be helped. The only thing that he can help you improve is your penmanship; he’s run out of subjects to teach you in. We can see about getting an art or music instructor, but it would be pointless when you start attending school.”

Erik grimaced at the thought of attending school. By the time all the paperwork had been filled out and filed, it had been too late to enroll in those fancy private academies that Horace insisted he attend. For this Erik was profoundly grateful as he had no desire to attend a boarding school where he would be carefully monitored and forced to dorm with children his own age.

“So, did you have fun exploring the forest?”

“I met a boy.”

“Really now? What was his name?”

“Charles Xavier.”

Genevieve made a small noise of surprise. “I remember meeting him when he was still an infant. He was an adorable baby. He has such beautiful eyes.”

Erik dunked his head under the water to get the shampoo out of his hair.

“Are you two friends now?” asked Genevieve when he came up again, wiping her hands dry on a hand towel. 

Erik frowned. Were they friends? He knew that most children were a bit wary of him, not really wanting to play with him or make friends with him, and Erik often found them so tedious that he never bothered to make an effort to befriend any of them. It concerned Genevieve, but she eventually chalked it up to the trauma that she was sure he experienced.

He found himself wanting to make an effort for Charles.

“I don’t know.”

“I can give Sharon a call after dinner tonight. Maybe she’ll be willing to bring Charles over tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it darling.”

After dinner, Genevieve made the phone call. When she went to tuck Erik in, she apologized. Charles’ family would be moving to the United States tomorrow. Erik assured her that it wasn’t big deal; it wasn’t as if he knew Charles very well anyway.

So Charles would be making the trip to Westchester today; to the vast empty mansion that was his mother’s estate. Erik wished that he could do more for Charles; he wished that he could find out why he was hiding in the woods sleeping in the mud rather than at his home.

Charles had never been forthcoming about his home life and Erik had respected him enough not to pry. He knew that it was lonely and there was some trauma in his early childhood, but Erik only knew about those things through certain aspects of Charles’ behavior, and the occasional drunken confession.

There was no point in comparing childhoods, there never was. His had been fairly horrible, but it wasn’t as if Charles’ wealthy existence shielded him from the bad things that had happened to him in his life. If anything, it made him less likely to be willing to talk about them; Charles never wanting to burden anyone with his pain, and not wanting to come off as the rich boy whining about his life.

Erik lay back in his bed with a sigh.

He knew that this wouldn’t be the last time he would meet Charles, but some part of him wished that they could grow up together. 

That they could grow up like brothers, and have a connection so deep that it couldn’t be severed by differing world views.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, [here's](http://pryxis.tumblr.com/) my tumblr. The ask is open, so feel free to bug me with anything. I also might be posting some excerpts and outlines of some of the other stuff I'm working on if you're interested.


	6. Interlude: Chanukah

There was no end for the war in sight. Soon families began following Sharon Marko’s example, and started fleeing the country. Horace holds off for a bit, not believing that the war could reach London, but quickly started making plans for a transatlantic move when he realized that he was lacking in partners to drink and smoke with.

 

They would be leaving in the second week of January; it was currently the first of December.

 

It was unseasonably warm, twelve degrees in December. The grounds were still damp and Erik had stopped avoiding his tutor, much to the sadistic delight of the old fart.

 

Most of his work consisted of penmanship practice, his tutor quick to point out any mistake that Erik made, no matter how slight. Erik didn’t think his hand would ever stop aching from the scores of lines he wrote every day.

 

When he wasn’t studying, he spent most of his time reading. (Genevieve had attempted to teach him how to play piano, but Erik had no patience for music. She had given up two lessons in, seeing how much the lessons were frustrating him.) Occasionally he would use some of the art tools that Gen bought for him once she discovered he had some artistic talent.

 

But there was nothing he could do to disguise the fact that his days were empty.

 

Sometimes Erik was convinced that whatever entity (be mutant, deity, or piece of technology) that had sent him back in time was simply using an elaborate method to ensure that he died of boredom. Looking at the calendar he felt a pang in his chest.

 

Chanukah would start in five days.

 

He wondered how his mother was doing. He wondered if she was still alive and if she would even bother to light the candles this year. Probably not, decided Erik. There was little point in wasting precious resources at this point. Besides, it would be safer for them that way.

 

That night when Genevieve came to tuck him in, she asked him if there was anything that he would like to do for Chanukah.

 

She meant well, she really did, but all he could think of his mother’s face bathed in light of lit candles.

 

“It’s alright. I haven’t observed the other holidays, so there’s no need to go out of your way to celebrate this one.”

 

She looked faintly surprised, then guilty. “You should have told me. I would have made any necessary arrangements. You may be our son, Erik, but you shouldn’t feel as if you need to hide your beliefs.”

 

“My family wasn’t really that religious.”

 

Genevieve looked disbelieving.

 

“No really! We didn’t even keep kosher and we only went to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Before I left Germany there was push to become more religious; we started observing Halakah more strictly and we tried to keep kosher when we could, but before that we weren’t so concerned with our religion.” It was all true, but Erik was surprised that he had went to such effort to comfort her. But she had looked so guilty and hurt by his admission that he could help it. Maybe it was because lighting the candles with his mother was one of his fondest memories that he had about his mother, the way that she would clutch him tightly as she carefully supervised him as he touched one candle to another.

 

His mother was perhaps a bit more religious than his father, but his family was never devout. In the weeks before Kristallnacht, they only went to the synagogue for Yom Kippur.

 

“But isn’t it a bit like Christmas? No child wants to miss Christmas.”

 

Erik gave her a rueful smile.

 

“Not really. It’s very minor holiday. It’s mostly about lighting candles, playing games for candy, and eating traditional Jewish food. It’s not about presents.” He would help his mother prepare the meal, peeling potatoes, stirring the soup, and would help her clean when everything was done.

 

“But don’t you give presents during Chanukah? I swore Marigold said something about presents…”

 

“Some parents give their kids gifts so they don’t feel left out because their friends and classmates will get presents for Christmas. But presents aren’t a part of the holiday.” His parents never participated in the practice, but when they could, they usually ended up giving him a present before the year ended. It was never wrapped, or presented with any ceremony, but Erik looked back at those times with no small amount of fondness.

 

She pursed her lips together in a fine line, but said nothing more about the subject.

 

The next day when went to his room after another session with his grizzled old bastard of a tutor, there was a fine silver menorah on his bedside table with a package of candles and matches nearby. There was also a small bundle of candy on his bed along with a small wooden dreidel.

 

Four days later, he lit the first candle and thought of his mother.

 

When Genevieve went to wake him up in morning and saw the menorah, she didn’t say a word.

 

But after dinner there was a small wrapped box sitting on his bed, with a deep blue ribbon tied around glossy white paper.

 

Erik unfolded the note included, and read the note written in Genevieve’s elegant curving script.

 

_I know that this holiday isn’t about presents,_

_but I thought I’d give you something regardless._

_Normally I wouldn’t trust a child with something_

_like this, but you are more responsible than any_

_boy I have ever met._

_-Genevieve_

Inside the box was a pocket watch. On the inside cover of the watch his name was engraved in English and in Hebrew. Erik traced his finger over the Hebrew engraving, thinking about his mother. He slipped the watch in his pocket, lit the second candle and sent a prayer for his mother’s wellbeing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another update later tomorrow, as this one was quite short.


	7. Chapter 7

January came sooner than expected, and they were soon boarding a flight bound to Miami. From there they took another plane to their final destination, a plane that was rattling so hard that Erik reached out to cling to Genevieve without thinking.

 

The nervousness of the flight attendants only put him more on edge. Master of magnetism or not, he did not have the power necessary (at this age, at least) to save anyone on this metal deathtrap, much less himself or Genevieve, should the plane decide to take a nose dive into the ground.

 

Forty five minutes later, the plane had a shaky landing in New Orleans.

 

The city was busy and bustling, there were people rushing from place to place and others who would take their time, chatting to familiar faces along their commute. The streets were damp from a recent rainfall, but the sky was bright and free of any clouds.

 

It was much warmer than England was, though Erik idly as he took off his jacket and waistcoat. The warm weather didn’t bother him too much, but he could tell that Genevieve and Horace would have some trouble when the summer months hit. Genevieve was commenting on how she would need to buy some new clothing, as the clothing she had brought while the rest of her wardrobe was in transit were far too warm for this climate. Horace was sweating through a wool suit, refusing to admit that the weather was affecting him negatively.

 

“Oh, don’t worry Erik, we’ll buy some new things as well. You must be too warm in those trousers of yours.”

 

Erik dreaded another uncomfortable session at the tailors, getting poked at an cooed over by shop assistants.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Genevieve gave him a sharp look. “Right now. But if it’s this warm in January dear, then you will be suffocating when spring hits. I didn’t think that this city would be so much warmer than London is. Now I know that you’re not overly fond of sitting still while you get measured for clothing, but you will simply have to endure it.”

 

“Fine,” replied Erik petulantly as he looked away from her. Not too long after his reply he heard Genevieve stifle her laughter at his behavior.

 

When they arrived at their hotel room, Horace immediately went to his room to sleep off the after effects of overindulging in alcohol on the flight to Miami and to strip off his heavy suit. Surprisingly, Genevieve would be sleeping in the same room as Erik, which included two queen sized beds.

 

“Why do the two of you sleep in separate beds?” asked Erik as Genevieve was in the bathroom, getting ready for sleep.

 

It wasn’t something that Erik bothered to pay attention to when they lived at the manor, the house was so big he wasn’t even sure where Genevieve’s and Horace’s rooms were. He supposed that his curiosity just got the best of him.

 

“Oh, Horace has never been able to tolerate a bedmate. We got into the habit of sleeping in separate beds when I fell ill a couple of years ago, and it seemed to be more agreeable for the both of us. Why do you ask? Are you embarrassed to have me sleeping the same room as you?”

 

She came into the bedroom in an ankle length sleeping gown, with her hair in two ridiculous pigtails. All she needed was a green face mask, thought Erik with some amusement. It struck Erik how nice it was to see her so comfortable, since around the estate; especially in the company of other people and servants, she seemed so stiff and formal. She made an effort not to be like that around him, but he could tell that she would prefer a setting that didn’t require a grand display of manners.

 

The estate was nice enough but it was uncomfortably large for a family of three. There were always servants around, but they often would only talk among themselves. They didn’t socialize with him, afraid that they would be dismissed for impropriety. Not that Genevieve would do that, be Erik knew that Horace would.

 

 There was a certain way that the Emerson would treat the servants, like they weren’t there also unnerved Erik. Genevieve did it thoughtlessly, showing Erik that she had probably always lived with a small army of servants around her, but Horace did it knowingly, lording his superiority and wealth over any one he could. It was something that Erik was used to seeing when someone married up, especially if the motives for marrying in the first place were financially motivated. It was a suspicion regarding Horace that Erik had for a while, confirmed when he heard Horace trying to wheedle Genevieve to move to a trendy townhouse in New York, in a very expensive part of the city. Horace refused to sell the estate, and Genevieve wouldn’t allow him to pilfer the sizable trust that her father left her when he died. She had claimed that the current estate manager wouldn’t allow her to spend her money so frivolously, especially on a rather small house with barely enough space to raise a growing young boy. Eventually they managed to compromise on New Orleans, the city having enough of a nightlife and things to do for Horace’s tastes, and having plenty of available real estate that was large enough for Genevieve to be comfortable. After hearing them politely and courteously argue about this in the ensuing weeks before their move, Erik longed for the relatively small house that he had shared with Raven, Emma, Janos, and Azazel after he had left Charles.

 

There were times that Erik often greatly disliked the attitudes of the very wealthy, and he was often reminded of it in the weeks that he had spent at the estate. It wasn’t only their attitudes concerning their servants, more often than not it was the blasé way that they treated money.  In his first couple of weeks in the Emerson household Genevieve gave him five pounds a week for spending money. It was more money than most of the servants were paid. He still had the money in an envelope that was buried in one of his suitcases; he never had reason to spend the money that Genevieve had given him, as he rarely was able to leave the estate on his own.

 

Their stay in the hotel was only supposed to last a week, until some renovations on the house they had bought were completed, but living in such close quarters was starting to grate on both Genevieve and Horace. It was hardly surprising, considering that they barely saw each other when they were still in England. Horace would only have dinner with the both of them, and aside from the occasional dinner party, never spent much time in the house. Erik never really concerned himself with what Horace did when he was out of the house, he didn’t have much interest in his comings and goings. He was an unpleasant man, but one who Erik could ignore without any difficulty. He felt that Genevieve was more concerned in his habits, but she would often busy herself with other things, whether it was the various social engagement she would attend, or busying herself with Erik’s wellbeing.

 

It had been easy to ignore Horace coming in at two in the morning when there was a whole house in between their bedrooms, and she could pretend that he was at the house at respectable hour. Now that there was only a wall separating them, Genevieve grew more anxious as the days passed by; not being able to ignore her husband’s behavior but also not having the courage to confront him.

 

It was a peculiar thing, thought Erik as he observed Genevieve fret over Horace. But he supposed that she had been living in some sort of willful ignorance that was perpetuated by how busy he seemed and the various servants covering up for his coming and goings. She couldn’t have remained completely ignorant to his habits, not unless she truly didn’t want to know what kind of person her husband was.

 

The anxiousness that Genevieve had didn’t subside when they moved into a large house on St. Charles Avenue. On occasion when Erik got up in the middle of the night he would find her looking out the window of the second floor parlor, waiting for Horace to come home.

 

Erik hoped that she didn’t notice some of smaller things about Horace’s appearance when he came home. Like the faintest smudge of lipstick on his neck, the faint perfume masked by the acrid smell of tobacco smoke, or the sloppily tied laces of his always immaculately shined shoes.

 

But to tell the truth she probably did.

 

Erik didn’t know why he was so concerned for her, but for some reason he was. She was the only human apart from his mother that he actually wanted to protect. And it wasn’t as if she was truly in love with Horace, she had probably married him out of obligation or because her family arranged the match for her. It was the shame that ate away at her, the realization that her husband didn’t care about how this would reflect upon their family, the snide remarks that would follow her around those pompous social events that she liked attending. And there was little that Erik could do to protect her against that.

 

He knew that it was petty, but every time that Horace got near him, he would have a small ‘accident’. Erik would pull on the metal on his belt to make him stumble, make sure that his watch would bang painfully against his leg or face, or melt the zipper in his stupid French trousers so he would have to cut himself out of them. If he had finer control over his power, he might be tempted to break off a piece of that metal implant in Horace’s right arm and send it straight to his heart, and give Genevieve some reprieve over her worrying.

 

When Erik finally started attending school (a stuffy private school full of snotty stuck up brats), Genevieve finally stopped becoming so concerned with her husband’s coming and goings, choosing instead to focus on Erik’s academic career and socializing with some of the mothers of Erik’s classmates. It didn’t exactly thrill Erik that he was forced to spend more time with his classmates, most of whom either took to whispering about him behind his back, or attempting to bully him. However, he was glad that Genevieve was looking more cheerful and to be honest, he wasn’t too concerned about the bullying in the first place.

 

 The bullying was a largely unsuccessful endeavor, after two of the stockier boys in his class who attempted to throw his things in the school fountain found themselves soaking wet and more than slightly bruised.

 

Erik may be younger and weaker than he was when he first learned to properly fight, but he still knew how to prey on the weaknesses of his opponents and play to his strengths, especially if they were a bunch of untrained boys used to only using their fists and sizes for intimidation. After the incident, only the very stupidest of boys tried to pick a fight with him. Now they just preferred to talk and make up wild rumors when they thought he wasn’t paying attention.

 

It made sense that they didn’t like him, thought Erik as he boarded a trolley to avoid his very foolish pursuers. (Sometimes it didn’t matter how much money you wasted on tutors, there was no use in looking for intelligence where it didn’t reside.)  While some of the subjects being taught were obviously new to Erik, who had never attended any formal educational institute, he learned everything quickly and without much difficulty. The only subject that he was completely abysmal in was History. It was boring, it took place in a small stuffy classroom, and Erik deemed it an utter waste of his time as he absolutely no interest in American history. Even watching his language teacher butcher French was more interesting than his history lessons.

 

The St. Charles line would take him from his stuffy private school on Jefferson Street all the way to bustling noise of the French Quarter. It was further than his classmates were willing to go, and Erik relished in the way that they stood by the stop, wanting to follow him but too cowardly to do so.

 

He didn’t know why he liked the French Quarter, but if pressed he would say that he liked the anonymity. Though it was a better place to be than it had been a decade ago, it wasn’t the best of neighborhoods, and Erik knew better than to tell Genevieve where he escaped to after school. If she knew, she wouldn’t hesitate in picking him up from school herself, more than willing to completely embarrass him in front of his classmate in punishment for spending time in a potentially dangerous neighborhood until it became dark.

 

Among the bustling bohemian population and the loud music, there were few people that took notice of a young school boy on his own. More often than not, he would head over to Jackson Square with a bottle of soda and a dusty old paperback from a second hand book shop and read. When he was bored of reading he would look at the various artists populating the area or spend some time under a  shady tree; watching the people mill around him.

 

Feeling the sun shine on his face, the wind rustling his hair, and the faint sounds of the music that was playing in the streets, Erik was able to truly relax.

 

It was nice to have a little bit of freedom.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The years passed in varying speeds of time. Sometimes they slowed to a trickle, the heat of New Orleans passing by at a speed slower that molasses; but more often time flew by and in a blink of the eye, the war was over. After the war ended, Horace decided that the family should stay in New Orleans for a while longer, ‘until things in Europe settled down’.

 

In reality it was because Horace was far from ready to settle down and stop enjoying the nightlife, which he spent in private rooms thick with cigar smoke, laden with expensive alcohol and women that didn’t mind sleeping with a sweaty overweight married man if his money was good.

 

It was something that both Erik and Genevieve both tried to ignore. Genevieve, by socializing with their neighbors, attending their Saturday luncheons and getting slightly tipsy at her Friday night ‘book club’. Erik was well aware that it was an excuse to drink wine with her friends and trade gossip, a pile of books often forgotten on the coffee table as another bottle of wine was opened. He was the one that would often hoist her into her room after all of the other women went home, making sure that her shoes were off and carefully wiping off her makeup with a damp cloth when she was too drunk to bother.

 

He was glad that she wasn’t miserable, but looking at the way that she seemed to long for England; and the way that she often reacted to the correspondence that her friends in England sent her, it only made his distaste for Horace only grow stronger. He heard the quick quiet arguments that they both had on the nights that Horace would come home, the scent of cigar smoke and alcohol wafting off him. Erik saw the way that she behaved in the subsequent days after their fight, resigned and depressed; often canceling her previous social engagements and shutting herself in the house.

 

Erik still spent his time in the French Quarter, which had been developed into a more upscale neighborhood in hopes of attracting tourists. The streets were cleaner, and the air of seediness was gone; but it lacked the same charm that it once had. He missed the artists and writers the used to hang around the bars of the area, the penniless musician that would often play a couple of notes on his trumpet for a drink. There rougher people that used to hang around as well, but after a few scuffles, they never bothered Erik. Now it was all expensive apartments being renovated, overpriced cafés and boutiques, and the increased flow of people who thought that their money was doing more good than harm to this old neighborhood.

 

It was on his way to Café du Monde, intent on getting a cup of coffee and beignet; that Erik ran into a thief.

 

He was a small scrawny thing, who slipped in between the crowds of tourists; his hands nimble and quick. He was good, no one noticing that they were missing a wallet until they looked for it. However, he made the mistake of trying to slip his hand into Erik’s pocket, who had more than his fair share of experience with pickpocketing.

 

Erik clapped a strong, steady hand on the young boy’s shoulder and stopped him from running off; the boy squirming under his hold as Erik dragged him into his field of vision.

 

His scathing words died in his throat once he saw the young boy’s eyes, partially hidden by a thick fringe of hair.

 

Red irises on black sclera.

 

Making up his mind, he steered the boy towards the café.

 

After ordering a cup of coffee for himself, a glass of orange juice, and enough beignets to feed a small army, he and the boy sat down at one of the outdoor tables.

 

The boy looked suspiciously at the food.

 

“Go ahead and eat.”

 

“Why you doing dis?”

 

Erik took a sip of his coffee. “Because I know what it’s like to be so hungry that you have to steal in order to be able to eat.”

 

After he had been freed from Auschwitz, times had been rough. He slept in gutters, stole money to get by, and slowly nursed his poisonous hatred for the man that carefully pulled him apart and put him back together. It was a hateful way of life, one that made him only a step above from the monster that he was hunting, and Erik was glad that he was long gone from that mindset.

 

Erik shivered a bit, thinking of Shaw, someone who had rarely crossed his mind. He quickly pushed that thought away and focused on the child in front of him.

 

Erik could see the way that the child looked at his finely tailored clothing and his leather schoolbag with suspicion and no small amount of disdain. Erik met his dubious eyes with a cold blank stare.

 

“Kay. Say what you say be true. Why me? Outta all de street rats liftin’ wallets, why you pick me?”

 

“Your eyes.”

 

“Ma eyes.” He stuffed a beignet in his mouth, saying the next words with his mouth full of bread and powdered sugar. “Ya know; mos’ people run ‘way from me when dey see ma eyes. Had a preis’ try ta cleanse de demon outta of me las’ week.”

 

Erik was sure that more than one person tried to beat it out of him as well, judging from the dark purple bruises on his upper arm. He tightened his grip around the coffee cup slightly. Seeing Remy reminds him of the life that he had been forced to leave behind him. It wasn’t uncommon for children with visible mutations to be left on the streets, forced to live on scraps and get by either by begging or stealing. It was disgusting the way that some humans elected to treat those that were different from them, punishing them for something that they had no control over.

 

“Tell me, can you do anything special?”

 

He looked ready to bolt, every muscle in his small body tensing and a very clear look of disgust crossed his face. “I don’ do dat shit. T’ank you for da food, but-“

 

Erik nearly hit himself for his lack of tact, and for forgetting the way that people might take advantage of a child living on the streets, especially one that people thought was cursed and unwanted because of the nature of his mutation.

 

“You misunderstand.”

 

Erik took a coin out of his pocket and held it afloat with his powers. Smirking at the boy’s shocked expression; he decided to show off a bit and started twisting it into different shapes with ease.

 

The only positive thing about re-experiencing adolescence was significant boost that his abilities received. Control had been a little touchy when they had started to get more powerful as it always was for mutants that were blessed with more powerful and destructive powers, but he almost had the amount of control that he once had.

 

When he started the process of trying to control his ability once again, he wondered just how far his ability stretched. One could say that he possessed the ability to control magnetism, but that didn’t explain his control over metals that weren’t magnetic. While he could twist and manipulate iron with ease, but with a little more effort he could manipulate tin and aluminum the same way. By all accounts he shouldn’t be able to move or control any metal that wasn’t magnetic. It had been something that intrigued him about his powers later in his life, after he had first found out that not all metals were magnetic.

 

But at the time he had been more invested in taking a stand against the humans than finding out how his powers functioned, and was unwilling to explore his powers further after all that time spent as Shaw’s lab rat.

 

“I can’t do anyt’ing like dat.”

 

But the way that his expression was tinged with the slightest trace of hope, told Erik that there was more to this boy than just strange eyes. It was a familiar expression, an expression that Erik often saw in the eyes of the young children that he would rescue and tell them that they were better than the worthless parents that threw them out, better than the humans that would spit on them for what they were, and that they were better than they anything that they currently saw themselves as. Helping the young mutants of the world was important, it was the most important thing he had ever done, he realized with a faint amount of shock when he looked Remy once again.

 

“Something tells me that you can.”

 

“Not here. Dere be people watchin’.”

 

“Then take me somewhere where you can show me…”

 

“Remy. Who you be?”

 

“Erik.”

 

Remy took Erik into an abandoned house that was boarded up by a real estate company doing some repairs before it was fit to sell.

 

Remy picked up a small piece of plaster and cupped it in his hands. It took a moment, but soon enough the bit of plaster began to glow bright pink. It then popped, leaving behind a sizzle of smoke.

 

“That’s certainly impressive.”

 

Remy gave him a shy smile.

 

“T’anks. Been practicin’.”

 

Erik stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to think about how to phrase his next words. Dealing with orphans was tricky, especially ones that lived on the streets. You had to be kind, but not patronizing, be friendly, but not too familiar; it was a fine line that Erik had to toe. In his previous life, recruiting young children and teenagers from the streets was something that Erik didn’t always succeed at, it was something that Charles was more successful at, since very few of them wanted to be seen as terrorists, proving everyone who reviled mutants right. Most mutants, even among his own ranks craved acceptance, and it wasn’t something that he as mutant terrorist Magneto would never be able to provide for them.

 

“I’ve been wondering Remy, are you doing alright?”

 

Remy shrugged. “I do okay. Got ta eat t’day.”

 

It was unsurprising how much that bothered him. If Remy had been born ‘normal’, he might not have had to resort to picking wallets just to get enough to eat. Erik felt a surge of anger rise up within him, but quickly repressed it. Anger would do him no good in this situation.

 

“Got a place to sleep?”

 

Remy eyed Erik in suspicion. “Jackson Square s’not so bad in de summer. S’not like it’s been rainin’ or anyt’ing.”

 

“If you ever get sick of it, I have plenty of space.”

 

“Appreciate de offer, but I bet your rich parents won’t want ta take in a street child.”

 

Erik thought of Horace and smirked. Well, if there was another way to piss him off. Housing a thieving orphan was certainly one way of achieving that goal. Genevieve wouldn’t mind, but he knew that Remy would appreciate discretion, especially because he knew that Genevieve wouldn’t hesitate to adopt him and smother him in kindness.

 

“They don’t have to know.”

 

Look at Remy’s skeptical look, he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “It doesn’t have to be permanent. I’m not asking that you stay hidden away in my room like some stray dog. I know things get bad, and sometimes you need to hide. I’m just giving you an option.”

 

“Only if t’ings get bad” said Remy, his voice doubtful. Erik found himself wanting to remove that doubt, he wanted Remy to know that he could rely on Erik whenever he wanted to.

 

“Even if they don’t.”

 

Over the next few weeks, Remy would show up at random intervals; often sprawled out on the divan in Erik’s room, sleeping or complaining of boredom. Erik was grateful that Genevieve no longer popped into his room at random intervals, due to her catching him in a compromising position last year with Jonathan Caraway. Not that they were doing anything explicit when she caught them, but it was enough to stop her from barging into his room.

 

Caraway wasn’t anyone special, just someone that he would spend some time in the library, that would send him contemplating looks from time to time, looking for an excuse to brush against when sometimes moved around the library or would sit next to him. It wasn’t often that he contemplated it, especially because he was so much older than the rest of his students, but Caraway was sixteen and seemed to understand that Erik didn’t want anything serious when he had invited him over after school. And Erik needed some outlet of release, with the tension that seemed to pervade the house as things became strained between Genevieve and Horace once again. He was tired of looking biting his tongue as Horace went sleeping around the entire town, and Genevieve ignored him with an intense bout of passive aggressiveness. Genevieve had caught them just after they managed to discard their shirts, arriving early from the late lunch she had with the group of women that she socialized with.  She had been very careful about coming into his room unannounced after that incident.

 

He was grateful for the privacy, but the fight that they got into after Caraway left put a bad taste in Erik’s mouth.

 

She had wanted to send him to go see a doctor to fix his unnatural urges, which was something that she was quickly talked out of when Erik detailed exactly what kind of treatment they would put him through. There was some talk about hell and the wrath of God, which Erik countered how well she herself adhered to the letter of the Bible. They both wouldn’t talk to each other for days after the fight, leading to him avoiding the house as much as he could and very uncomfortable meals. Meals where she would start crying at the drop of the hat; send him worried looks, and her becoming thinner than was healthy.

 

He eventually started to date a girl so she would stop.

 

But he had always been gay and that would never change, even if he ended up sleeping with every woman in town. It was as much a part of him as his mutation, though a part of himself that had been very difficult to accept when he first started to become attracted to men. He spent many years kissing women without emotion, sleeping with them mechanically and without release. It was an unhappy existence, one that he grew tired of quickly. There was one point in his life where he hoped that there would be a woman that would be able to convince him to stop being attracted to men, that would be able to cure him of this affliction. But then he had met Charles, and the easy way that he flirted without even knowing, the way that he could put almost anyone at ease, and the way that he had accepted Erik without pausing. Everything with Charles in the beginning was easier than it had any right to be, easier than anything that Erik had ever experienced in his life at that point. He had never found out if Charles had ever returned those feelings, sometimes he had gotten the feeling that maybe he had; but in later years he had wondered if he was just confusing kindness with attraction. There had been opportunities to ask, but it never seemed like the right time, and it was something painful to bring up when they became enemies. Erik had long accepted that it was something that he would never find out.

 

Genevieve’s emotional manipulation bothered him, but he knew that there was so much worse she could do, than just make him feel guilty. She could have him jailed or institutionalized. It was the 1940s; homosexuality was considered a disgusting crime by most and a mental illness by kinder people.

 

He knew that she was concerned about him, that she cared deeply about him, but there was nothing that he would be able to say to convince her that just because he was gay, there was nothing wrong with him.  He wondered idly if she would react to him being a mutant the same way, and decided that he didn’t want to know.

 

She was just a product of her time, thought Erik as he flipped open his pocket watch; staring at his name etched inside.

 

Remy gently snored in the background.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not having this up sooner, I've been unexpectedly busy these past few days. It's also why I haven't been replying to any comments. Hopefully I'll be able to have the next chapter up by Wednesday night, Thursday morning for those that live outside the United States.


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